All this information was not given until payment had been demanded and made, and after that there had been a final settlement, by which all the small belongings of the girl were to be delivered up to Wyndham; over this part of the transaction Moore had proved himself specially shrewd. As the game was up, he was determined to see himself really well out of it; and in the end he made so excellent a bargain that Wyndham found himself a good deal out of pocket. The price he paid was certainly a heavy one for two boxes, that might contain anything or nothing, and, for an astute lawyer like Wyndham, bordered on the absurd. Beyond doubt, if he went to law with the fellow, Ella would have got her own, but then there would be the publicity, and—— Any way, he paid it—not so much for the boxes, however, as for the certainty that Moore would go abroad and leave Ella free. It was for that he bought and paid. But in spite of his better sense, that told him if there were anything in the boxes worth having Moore or his wife would have traded on it long ago, still he looked forward to the examining of them with a strange anxiety. When they came, they brought only disappointment with them—one was a hideous trunk, absolutely empty; the other a small dressing-case that had been costly when first made, the clasps and fastenings being of silver. The bottles inside had no doubt been made of silver, but they were all gone. It was a melancholy relic, and Wyndham, looking at it, told himself that probably Ella’s mother had picked it up for the sake of its outside beauty (the wood was Coromandel, and very pretty) at some cheap sale. Inside it was as empty of information as the trunk itself, a reel or two of thread, a pair of old black silk gloves, and a little bit of fancy work half done, being the only things to be seen. No letters or clue of any sort. It looked like the dressing-case of a young girl. On the lid were engraved the letters E. B. He was right, then—of course Ella’s mother had bought it. What could E. B. have to do with Mrs. Haynes? Unless her maiden name. But it seemed a common story, scarce worth looking into any further. All that was to be seen to now was Moore’s departure. And this he saw to effectually, getting up on a pouring morning to see Moore off, and giving him half of the cheque agreed on, as he left the outward-bound ship that took Moore with it. The big trunk he got rid of through the means of Denis, who burnt it, and the dressing-case he took down to Ella, who regarded it with reverence, and made a little special place for it on one of the small tables in the drawing-room of the Cottage. It was all that remained to her, poor child—all that she knew—of the woman who was her mother. CHAPTER LIII. ‘Were my whole life to come one heap of troubles, The pleasure of this moment would suffice, And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance.’